


Like Magical Babies?

by Still_beating_heart



Series: Magic Is Kind Of My Shtick [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Birth via werewolf claw c-section, Dead Claudia Stilinski, Dramatic birth, Full Shift Werewolves, I'm not entirely convinced the violence tag needs to be there but I prefer to overwarn than under, M/M, Magical Pregnancy, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Magical Tattoos, Male Lactation, Marriage Proposal, Maybe traumatic too, Mpreg, Post Mpreg, Sexual Content, Trapped In A Library, magical library, that's what I said, yep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:41:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27530179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Still_beating_heart/pseuds/Still_beating_heart
Summary: Here’s the surprising thing.  Finally, a thing that surprises.  Derek absolutely does not pop out a ring, he doesn’t start talking.  Nope.  He takes Stiles’s hips in his big hands and drags him towards him until Derek’s ear is resting on his lower abdomen.  And just pauses.  Just like that.“Uh,” Stiles starts, scanning the faces of everyone in the room for some kind of hint, “stage fright?” he wonders gently, carding his fingers through Derek’s hair.  The expressions on the faces in the room vary from confused to amused to really strangely smirky (Erica and Peter!).  He’s looking right at Isaac when he tilts his head, listens, and his eyes water.  They water!  And he leans into Erica’s side, wiping his face on her shoulder.“Okay, so the gas station lunch I had was questionable, but really, it’s not like everyone in here needs to hear about…”“A baby,” Derek utters.  And Stiles totally misheard that.“A burrito.  The microwave kind.  You know, all gross and greasy and…”“A baby,” Derek responds.***** This is the Mpreg portion, part three will be the kid fic. *****
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Magic Is Kind Of My Shtick [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2012203
Comments: 28
Kudos: 303





	1. But I'm A Guy

**Author's Note:**

> I said I would write the tropes, so here we go with Mpreg. Go easy on me... It will be dramatic, but everyone will make it out alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess you don't really need to read the first one to read this one, but know that Stiles is full of all kinds of magic, he and Derek are already well established by this point. And also just suspend your belief in reality and we'll get through this...

But I’m A Guy

The goal was to make it through college without any supernatural occurrences to ruin his life. And he did it! Stiles did it! With all of his spare time spent gathering information about all the creatures drawn to Beacon Hills by the Nemeton. Usually fairly harmless creatures that were just there out of curiosity, or the unconscious pull of magic to the source of it. Most of them knowing it was Hale Territory and making the proper arrangements ahead of time instead of just appearing without warning - ‘cause here’s the cool thing: the internet. Stiles is not the only person with supernatural friends under his care that scours the internet for similar information every weekend. So it’s not that hard to find secret chat rooms set up for whatever he is, maybe the pack emissary by now. He prefers to call himself the Chairman of the Board of Supernatural Elements: Property of Derek Hale. But that’s kind of a mouthful. And really, let’s face it, Derek is Stiles’s property, not vice versa. Or maybe some vice versa too since a magical ring tattoo appeared on Stiles’s finger shortly after their first time together, and he nearly demanded Derek tattoo a ring on his finger too, but since it wasn’t really either of their intentions, or faults, or maybe it was both of theirs, he decided to just wait it out. See if Derek would make the right choice of his own volition. He hasn’t, not yet (and it’s been like four years almost) but the way he looks at Stiles’s gently glowing ring every time he’s around, the way he traces it with his finger, and it reacts with shifting colors that then glow right back at him through Derek’s eyes, it tells him more about Derek’s intentions and reverence towards Stiles than any ring ever could.

Anyway, he’s in no rush. Since he has to conceal the tats every time he goes out in public with a spell that the lady of the library (Lou) taught him back in the beginning of this surprise journey. Well, not right at the beginning. It was after the Welcome Mat, and then the Mural on his chest, and saving the hell out of Derek when he thought he could face the Alpha Pack on his own. And then taking some time off school in which he lost focus completely and played video games for most of the day, and it was only appropriate for him to go back to school, so, it’s amazing what can happen when you just ask the right person. And he asked the right person, and she told him. It takes just about zero energy to cast the Tattoo Concealment spell. Only thing is, it stops working when he falls asleep. So he had to single room it up in the dorms. Bummer, right?

Ha, only if a bummer means having the freedom to have his super hot, super unemployed boyfriend at his beck and call whenever the hell he wanted! Or whenever said boyfriend was not busy holding conferences with other supernatural beings on his territory and protecting the Nemeton that Stiles accidentally started feeding way back when his mom died. Thus, providing the opening for Derek’s accidental human sacrifice to the tree to spark it into even faster life while Stiles was still feeding it and stressing out over who’s bikes those could possibly have been that were so old and rusted and abandoned that they were grown into the tree itself! (Turns out they were Derek’s parent’s bikes before they were parents). 

So, after spending four years at Stanford and amassing a giant collection of supernatural information that he then formed an online database with, while also connecting with packs of all sorts from all over the world; he’s finally home.

Home. Let’s talk about home. Home is now officially a log cabin built in the Preserve. Far enough away from the old Hale house that Derek can’t still hear and smell his dead relatives, but close to the Nemeton. Derek spent the four years Stiles was away building the house. And as far as Stiles is concerned, every second was well worth it. A long ass two-rut driveway that twists and turns through the woods, then suddenly opens up to home. Home with a yard full of fruit trees and bushes, flowers spilling out of window boxes and layering trails of wild, natural growing blooms along the woods. A creek that darts through their front yard, the place that Stiles officially deemed the Deflowering of Stiles Stilinski Historic Site. (He keeps that one mostly to himself. And Derek of course, since Derek was there and all, on that historic night).

And the inside of the place. With so many windows. So many of them. Open concept between the living room, kitchen, dining area. There’s a small fireplace for the few cool nights that grace this area of California. A very small, gas insert that basically Stiles had to beg for since Derek and the whole fire that killed his entire family. Derek still mostly scowls at it and very pointedly placed fire extinguishers all over the house. But he’s warming up to it. Since he has a delicate human to keep warm on cold winter nights. 

The ceiling of the master bedroom is basically a wall of windows. And it’s awesome. And, and, and! there’s a wrap-around porch with one side that’s screened in for a reading nook and piled to the ceiling with books. 

It’s so cool.

Stiles always thought he’d go for law enforcement when he grew up, wanting to follow in his dad’s footsteps. But learning at seventeen that he’s actually containing a giant pool of magic inside his body, kind of made him rethink that. It’s probably for the best. And after all the years spent learning and gathering supernatural information, and rubbing elbows with creatures of all kinds, and packs of all kinds, he decided he might as well just go for liberal arts and humanities. Maybe he’ll get his teaching certificate and start up some underground courses on magic and supernatural. Someday, this world will have to meet the human world and maybe it’s best to get the supernaturals prepared for that. Though, it’s probably the humans that would have the most issue with adjusting to that. To allowing their lifestyle to change in order to accept the lifestyles of others around them, or even believe it. Not that human lifestyle would have to change much, it’s not like they haven’t lived in harmony for centuries now, they just haven’t known it. 

Stiles shudders when he thinks about how horribly wrong it could all go.

So he stops thinking about it. As soon as the two-rut opens up to the glorious view of his home. His home! With Derek! And the cars of everyone he knows parked all nice and neat in a row. To probably surprise him. He’s so surprised. Totally worked. 

“You could have attempted to hide your cars if you wanted to surprise me,” he announces before he even pulls the door open since more than half the crew has supernatural hearing and all. 

They don’t seem to care, they all holler, “welcome back!“ as soon as he pulls the door open. 

“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” he smirks, expecting all the happy faces and random decorations and a meal fit for royalty spread out on the kitchen counters. What he doesn’t expect though. Is Derek’s reaction. Derek, who cocks his head to the left, listens very hard for all of thirty seconds, and then drops to his knees right tin front of Stiles.

Oh this is it. This is the big proposal. This is going to be awesome. He’s doing this in front of everyone. And no one will be surprised, neither will Stiles, but he wants to hear what Big Guy has to say. He’s gotten better with his words, but they are still few and far between. Especially in front of a group. 

Here’s the surprising thing. Finally, a thing that surprises. Derek absolutely does not pop out a ring, he doesn’t start talking. Nope. He takes Stiles’s hips in his big hands and drags him towards him until Derek’s ear is resting on his lower abdomen. And just pauses. Just like that.

“Uh,” Stiles starts, scanning the faces of everyone in the room for some kind of hint, “stage fright?” he wonders gently, carding his fingers through Derek’s hair. The expressions on the faces in the room vary from confused to amused to really strangely smirky (Erica and Peter!). He’s looking right at Isaac when he tilts his head, listens, and his eyes water. They water! And he leans into Erica’s side, wiping his face on her shoulder. 

“Okay, so the gas station lunch I had was questionable, but really, it’s not like everyone in here needs to hear about…”

“A baby,” Derek utters. And Stiles totally misheard that.

“A burrito. The microwave kind. You know, all gross and greasy and…”

“A baby,” Derek responds. 

“Horribly unhealthy. But hey, what can you do when you’re on the road and hunger strikes?”

And now Derek is gripping his shirt, yanking it up to expose his abdomen, while dragging his pants down as far as he can given the space that his belt is affording and Stiles gasps, horrified that his boyfriend is about to do something very naughty in front of everyone in some kind of werewolf claiming ceremony that he came across on this thing called fanfiction that is equal parts glorious and horrifying but none of these things actually exist in the real supernatural world. They only exist, “stop,” he smacks Derek’s hand, but all Derek does is rub his fingers over a spot just to the right of Stiles’s treasure trail and it makes weird warmth (not so weird) spread through Stiles while he wills the tattoos not to start glowing red for lust right here in front of his family, and makes himself think about all the gross things in the world like eviscerated bodies to will his boner away. Because, again, family present. As in, here. Right here, watching Derek fondle Stiles’s lower abdomen. Yep.

“Derek,” this time he thumps on the top of his head, “stop it.”

His eyebrows dip into death mode and he growls all menacingly deep in his throat, “shit,” and startling away like he just got prodded with an electric cattle prod, “sorry, I’m so,” it kind of cuts off in his chest and he keeps walking backwards until his back is met with Dad’s hands. Hands that reach up to squeeze his shoulders, “sorry,” he utters again, completely horrified with his actions. 

But which actions? Exactly? 

“Okay boys,” Melissa, sweet Melissa, leave it to Melissa to interrupt all the weird expressions and silence and tension, with a command of, “what’s going on here?”

Scott, who Stiles hasn’t seen in nearly a year, who kind of permanently lives on the East coast now, but doesn’t really live permanently anywhere at all, has kind of turned into a hippy with the long hair and the guitar and everything, wanders around recruiting pack-less wolves, sort of forming a pack-portion of the Hale pack officially but led by the True Alpha who would rather sing songs around a campfire than deal with the bloody compromising part of the world. It’s complicated. Scott, who hasn’t been seen in a long time, is bright red and looking very, very confused, “there’s a heartbeat.”

“Yeah. A lot of them,” Melissa motions around the room in a much smoother one than Stiles would have used.

“An extra one,” he clears his throat. 

“An extra one?” Stiles feels his face full of ‘what in the flying fuck are you talking about good buddy?’.

“A baby,” Isaac clarifies, parroting Derek apparently. Derek, who is still standing full of bunched muscles filled with tension even with Dad’s hand on his shoulder. 

Dad, who admits, “we heard that part, son.”

“Okay, this is a really cool werewolf version of Punk’d and all, but it’s just not that funny when the joke is so vague.”

“Stiles,” Boyd steps forward, one tiny step, looking over at Derek. For permission? Derek nods. So, for permission. What the hell? He takes another step and kneels in front of Stiles, “may I move your clothing aside?”

“I? My? What now?” his mouth is doing a very good impression of a dying fish. He’s mostly just waiting for Peter to say something creepy or tell them all they’re stupid as hell and this whole situation is rather obvious and boring. 

Or Lydia. Where’s Lydia? She should be rolling her eyes and telling them all the joke is lame and they need to move along. Uh, yeah, she’s just standing there staring. With mild confusion in her perfectly plucked brows. 

That’s great.

“I, um, yeah, maybe. Where are you moving them aside to?”

“Just, here,” his hand rises and traces a circle in the air in the general area of where Derek’s ear was pressed.

“I, yeah. Sure, but I really don’t think anyone can see…”

And it’s happening. He’s moving Stiles’s clothes. When his knuckle brushes against his skin, there’s a little growl that comes out of Derek and Boyd mumbles, “no bad intentions.”

What is seriously happening here? What is the possessive horribleness that is happening? What is the permission to touch thing? There is so much just…

“Right here,” Boyd tells them. All of them, “see that?”

Stiles shoves his flannel aside, bends to peer down the miles of glowing tattoos, letting his eyes focus and refocus through the sway of them that are mostly in time with his breathing, and then a tiny flutter catches his eye. Right there in that spot next to his treasure trail. Under his belly button. In the very smallest root of the tattooed tree that grew itself on his flesh years ago. Wrapped up in a little, bitty tangle of tree, is a fluttering motion. But not like a butterfly. Or a pixie. Or a bird. Or Stiles’s massively rising anxiety. No! Or course not! It’s a tiny flutter like a miniature heart beating! 

“Oh. My. God. What was in that burrito? Talk about a food baby, huh? I…” it trails off when he looks up and gets a glimpse of all the other expressions in the room. 

Limited amounts of horror (probably only his own, actually), a lot of confusion, still some smirkyness (Peter), some wide-eyed wonder, and then there’s Derek. Everything on his face is screaming hope. 

Dad looks a little like he wants someone to shoot him. Melissa’s eyes are trailing over every inch of his abdomen like she has ultrasound vision and she’s checking the fetus for health.

The fetus. He just said fetus. Or rather thought it. Admitting that a part of him actually believes this. 

“Okay, but I’m a guy.”

Nothing.

“Dad? Help me out here. I’m a boy. Complete with male genitalia. Right? You changed my diapers. Scott, we’ve been through enough together in our decades of friendship that you can back me up on that. And, and Derek! Derek, I am a male! I can believe a lot of things, I can believe so many things, and I have a healthy imagination and a relationship with supernaturals, but this? This is… I can’t… but I thought… Derek? I’m pregnant,” it sounds all well and good and comes out of his mouth steady and strong. Or at least he thinks it does. He can’t really be sure. Since everything very rapidly spins nauseatingly and then plunges into total darkness.


	2. The Whole World Just Disappeared

The Whole World Just Disappeared 

A lot of things change in the whole thirty or sixty or maybe ninety seconds that he’s out. Like his entire knowledge of human anatomy. Yep. That.

“This joke isn’t funny,” he manages to get out before he even opens his eyes. Feeling the stare of his mate on his face, the scrutiny of his father in the general area, and Melissa’s fingers keeping pressure on his wrist for his pulse. 

“I’d have to agree,” Dad responds. And there he is, hovering over the back of the couch when Stiles opens his eyes.

“Hi Dad.”

“Hey Kid,” he’s rubbing at his forehead like the very sight of Stiles is causing the tension headache from hell. An expression he’s used to seeing.

And then instincts kick in. Because this isn’t weird enough already. He jolts to sitting, rips aside his clothes and searches for the fluttering heartbeat before he can sigh relief and then instantly fess up to every single bad thing he’s done in the two months since Derek came to visit him last. And he was going to come back home a month ago, but between finals and that pack of pixies and the overall feeling of being insanely unexplainably rundown, and sometimes nauseous and suddenly hating the taste of coffee. Coffee! The lifeblood of college students! He cleaned the coffee maker seven hundred times thinking it had to have been dirty or something if it was making horrible tasting coffee, but then he went to a little get together with a couple (he managed to make a handful even though college life is really just the same as high school only with more homework and studying) friends, and had to spit his beer back into the bottle as soon as it was in his mouth because it seriously tasted like skunk piss. Not that he knows specifically what skunk piss tastes like. 

“Oh Hale, I’ve destroyed it already. I’ve already consumed enough ultra horrible foods and haven’t taken nearly enough care of myself, I’m sure I’ve unwound so much DNA and it’s only just begun. And I was wondering why I couldn’t stop sleeping. Anywhere, any time, I seriously went to bed early last weekend on Friday night and didn’t get up even to pee until well past noon Saturday. Who does that? How is that even possible with a human bladder? It’s not. It’s not at all. And I smoked a bowl. Like a lot of times. And I drank a sip of beer. And then spit it back out, but I’m sure some of it got down there. And I had caffeine. And sugar. So much sugar since coffee tastes so gross. And I, Derek,” his hands dart out and grip Derek’s shirt, “I ruined our baby.”

“Stiles,” his voice is very calm, his expression very soft, which only makes Stiles feel worse, “you didn’t do anything wrong. She’s fine. She’s healthy and strong. There’s nothing wrong with her.”

“How do you know that? Just because you can hear her heart? That’s all you’re basing this on?”

A little flush creeps into his cheeks and Stiles nearly starts crying when he responds, “visions.”

It comes rushing back in, like a memory buried for reasons of protection. The dreams. Or maybe prophecies, “you had them too?”

“Years ago.”

“I, I didn’t know. I thought, surrogacy or something. I thought test tube babies, not magical womb babies! What in the Hale is going on here?! How did…” he jolts off the couch and makes way to the door, rushing past everyone and everything without so much as a goodbye or a where he’s going, he can feel Derek hot on his heels and sees him from the corner of his eye getting in the passenger side of the Jeep as he jams it into gear, “how? Did you know? Do you know? Did you know my poor body… how does it get out? Now that it’s in there, I kind of need to know how it gets out. I really need to know that. But no. Not yet, I can’t hear it yet. I need to not know. I need to understand how first. And you need to not say a damn word until I know. The only thing you’re allowed to say is yes or no,” turning his head to glare at Derek as he skids out onto blacktop and floors it, dropping gears all the way to the library. 

He jumps out, whirls around for his mom’s book (the one that opens the magic floor on the library), and stops when Derek is on the curb, comes toe to toe with him, “yes or no. Did you know?”

“About your…”

“Yes or no!”

“No,” he puts his hands up in mock innocence, and Stiles kind of wants to smack him, but he realizes he never kissed him hello when he came in the house, so he does that instead. The immediate contact makes him melt. Turning into putty against Derek’s broad, warm chest, one arm thrown over his shoulder, the other gripping the book between them.

“I don’t like this, Derek,” mumbling against his neck when he burrows there to hide.

“I know,” his hands are rubbing up and down, slow and steady, on Stiles’s back, “you’re doing fine, and you’re going to be great, you know?”

“No, I don’t know! I don’t know anything!” he squirms out of the embrace, says the magic words (or not really since the library just opens up to him without even an utterance) and starts up the steps. The steps that only exist for him. And Derek, “did you know?!” he shouts into the library where there are books, and this is new, fluttering around the place like they’ve lost their minds. Like a tornado is ripping through the center of the place. Like a flock of seagulls chasing after a fishing boat, “what the…”

“Well, hello to you too,” Lou, the library lady who is pretty much eternally stuck in her late twenties and in this library now. She got the assignment, as she calls it, after the old lady with wooden teeth from Stiles’s childhood library adventures moved onto her next one and it all seems very top secret CIA type shit but it’s mages, and libraries. Either way, she’s been stuck here for awhile now, and before this it was somewhere else and so on for a long ass time because apparently she screwed around too much with her power when she was coming into it and the head mage of all the land, or whoever, sentenced her here. Or there. However it all works. Either way, she’s here and Stiles is still not sure how he feels about her, but she knows a lot of stuff. 

She snaps her fingers, and all the books fall to the floor. Most of them closed tight. And one of them wide open, a thick vine climbing out of it and tangling through the place, heads for the window. Lou smirks, and makes a break for it when the vine pierces the glass, she runs full tilt only for it all to disappear as soon as she makes contact with the now closed window full of window pane, and she falls backward with the momentum, landing on her ass with double middle fingers towards the window, “I’ll get out,” she promises, picking herself up and dusting herself off as sparkling silver particles flip around her, “whether you like it or not.”

Stiles looks over at Derek for direction, he shrugs, because he’s so much help and when he opens his mouth, he’s promptly interrupted by her, “long time no see.”

“Yeah, about that, I…”

“Went off to college, started an underground supernatural cooperative, got knocked up and came back to town to raise a family.”

“Exactly that. Thank you.”

She claps her hands this time and the book that was growing a vine, extends an olive branch, waving it in Stiles’s face.

“Uh, okay,” he closes his fingers around it and plucks it from the book. Opening his palm, pushing it gently to let it flit away and dissipate, “I accept. What I am accepting an olive branch for?”

She shrugs, “something I’m about to do.”

“That’s not cool. That’s not even close to cool. But before you do that, why don’t you tell me, did you know? About the whole magical womb thing?”

“Not in terms specific to you. But male pregnancy? Yes. It’s happened. It’s happened to the best of us,” she means mages.

“Us? Like you too?”

“Mmm hm.”

“But you’re a girl.”

“In this realm. Yes.”

“Okay. Super helpful. So how?”

“How did you grow a magical womb to house your magical baby?”

“Yes.”

“Intention, love.”

“Like magic is all about intention, it’s more important than ability?”

“No. That’s a crock of shit we tell the newbies who aren’t talented enough to be anything more than a magician at a kid’s birthday party. Or compete on AGT. Ability is all that matters. But intention is sometimes unspoken and sometimes more powerful than the words you do speak.”

“Wow. You’re feeling super helpful today, aren’t you?”

“Yep,” she smirks, snaps her fingers and the book that Stiles is holding flits away from him, he freezes. Unable to move. So does Derek. But the book flaps over to Lou and she grins, whispering some words that make a branch of the Nemeton sprout out of the floor, bash through the ceiling, shatter the glass window panes. Stiles rolls his eyes as she gears up to jump out again. Some people are slow learners. 

And then his eyes widen, nearly pop out of his head when she succeeds! She jumps out the window! And she disappears!

“Oh holy Hale,” Stiles utters when he unfreezes, his mom’s book lying open on the floor, the library back in one piece. Making his way over to the window, expecting to see blood and guts exploded on the sidewalk beneath, he instead sees nothing. Nothing at all. Not even the town. Not even his Jeep. Not even a damn thing, “uh Derek? The whole world just disappeared.”


	3. Mage For A Mage

Mage For A Mage

Derek has been watching Stiles pace in the library for hours now. Whispering curses under his breath and flailing out with magic every so often that does nothing to open any doors for him. 

Derek made the mistake about an hour ago of walking out himself. There was no resistance, the door opened and revealed the stairwell as usual, but when Stiles tried to walk out after him, it shut and he panicked. Derek had no problem reentering the place either. So apparently it’s just Stiles who is stuck here.

“Mage for a mage,” Stiles had gritted out through clenched teeth, “that bitch. Why now? Of all times, why would she choose now to trap me in here? And when the hell is she coming back? Is this like an overnight trip to enjoy some freedom? Or is this a long term, lock me in a damn magic library so I can’t see any of my family or friends for all eternity? And what happens when,” his voice trails off, finger drumming over the fluttering heart in his abdomen.

Yeah, it’s a strange concept, not something Derek was expecting. Not something he was prepared for. The visions he was gifted with years back, when Stiles was first learning his magic, and Derek was trying to keep his pack safe from the Alpha pack, those were a preview. A preview of what he could have, if he fought to stay alive. One his brother, Nathan, gave him. Allowed him a glimpse that he could reach for, that his fingers could grasp, wrap around, and keep if he tried hard enough.

What he didn’t expect was for Stiles to actually carry the baby. He thought they’d go the route of adoption or surrogacy. This, this is something else. He tries to will away the fluttery feeling that invades his chest every time he thinks about it, every time he thinks about Stiles. The fluttery feeling he’s been mostly trying to will away for years now, even after they made themselves official. It still feels like something he doesn’t deserve, he’s not worthy of, and he’ll never be. It feels like something that can be ripped away from him too easily, too quickly, and irreversibly. Something he’d never recover from the loss of.

“Hey,” Stiles is suddenly in his face, hands flat on his chest, looking at him earnestly. Eyes beseeching to tell him all the things that are running through his mind. So many things he can’t break Stiles’s heart over, especially now.

“Hey,” he breathes gently, watching the way Stiles’s eyes flick to his lips for a split second, trying to decipher his mood by any tiny hints of expression he might offer.

“This is fine. I mean, it’s probably best, really, if I’m stuck here for the duration of this,” his hand falls from Derek’s chest to motion over his abdomen, but mostly knuckles Derek’s belly and bounces back off Stiles’s stomach before flattening out over the flutter, “it’s not like I can exactly walk around town with a baby belly showing. Oh god, Derek, I,” his eyes fill, he blinks it back, his voice quakes, he clears his throat. And then gives in. Burying his face in Derek’s neck, arms clamping around his chest like a vise.

Derek wants to tell him it’ll be okay, they’ll be fine, the visions said so. But there’s only so much a vision can provide. It’s a what-if, not a certainty.

Blinking back his own fog of confusion, worry, and instinct to provide, protect, and dig a goddamn den to put his mate and pup in, pace back and forth in front of the entrance and never leave them unattended. This is going to get out of control if he can’t keep himself together.

Under his fingertips, Stiles’s ribs like a xylophone. The expansion and contraction of his ribcage with every breath, broken and gasping but not panicking. Just crying. Derek’s not sure which is worse. He’s seen panic, enough times to know what to do, but now with tears and no way for Derek to fix them, he just feels so helpless.

He buries his face in the top of Stiles’s head, breathing him in, his usual scent and the underlying scent of both of them. It sends a shiver down Derek’s spine that he tries like hell to stifle and fails, since Stiles is leaning out of his chest quickly, wiping at tears and snot, the beginning of a smile rising, “really, dude?”

“What?! You smell like us as one, and it’s distracting, I’m sorry,” loosening his grip on Stiles, but he steps forwards as Derek steps back. 

“Okay, no sense in freaking out over this, I have no control, and I’m too overloaded with all the weird shit of this entire day to even attempt to think my way through a spell that would get me out of here, or get her back in here. So maybe tomorrow you track her,” he raises his eyebrows in question but doesn’t give Derek the time to answer, “and now, right now, we figure out if this place has a kitchen and bedroom and a bathroom. In that order. It’s been two months, Derek! Two! And I’m horny. But I’m hungry. And I’m grimy from driving all day, but hunger is weighing out the horny and horny is weighing out the need to clean myself up before you…” 

Derek cuts him off by kissing him. Hard. Hard enough that he gasps out a breath, his fingers tightening on Derek’s shirt, pulling himself closer instead of waiting for Derek to come to him. 

Eyes closed, forcing himself to mute the closeness of Stiles, of his scent and the tiny fluttering heartbeat he can hear; willing himself to focus on the scents of food, clean bedding, and hygiene products. He walks backwards, without breaking lip contact, until Stiles is stumbling over his feet with every step. Lifting him by the thighs to wrap his legs around Derek’s hips, only long enough between kisses for Stiles to, “object,” but wrap himself around Derek anyway and allow himself to be carried. Secretly loving being manhandled, or not so secretly since his erection swells enough to make itself well known through the layers of clothing between them. 

Derek sidesteps rows of books, losing focus every now and again to deepen the kiss, or run his hand down the crack of Stiles’s ass, under the hem of his jeans. The sounds he makes, and he doesn’t even realize he’s making them, go straight to Derek’s already achingly hard cock. The way he tilts Derek’s head with his hands, to get a better angle on the tongue attack he’s unleashed on Derek’s mouth. 

He finds himself stopping when his back meets the solid surface of a door, but not letting Stiles down yet, not letting go of his mouth or his ass. He’s certain they could both get off easily without losing a single layer of clothing, if he gets the right angle.

Stiles seems to pick up on the idea only a beat later, reaching down to quickly and messily free them both of the denim traps between them. He works Stiles’s jeans down just enough to get both hands on bare ass, letting the doorframe bear the brunt of their weight as he grinds up against Stiles. Against his hand, long fingers wrapping both their cocks in a tight, dry grip before he groans, reaching up to smother his hand with spit and return to the task at hand. 

“Eight weeks Derek,” he reminds him, as if Derek could forget, mostly mumbled against his lips while he’s diving back in, but Derek understands it clearly. The words and the feeling of desperation. If they were still home, they’d have eaten dinner by now, sent the pack back to their own places, and he’d have laid Stiles out in their new bed, one he hasn’t even slept in himself. Wanting to wait, wait until they were both there to mix and mingle scents and feelings, bury them deep in the mattress and bedding so it would never smell like anything but them together. He’d already have Stiles undressed, he’d lean over him, pour over every line, every dip and curve, every swirl of every tattoo, map out any differences since the last time. He’d be traveling his long, lean body with lips, tongue, teeth, fingers, the palms of his hand. Stiles would be giving him that look, that one he always gives him that reads so many things. So many, but never embarrassment, knowing that Derek only does it because he loves every single part of him. Every part outside and in, and there is nothing that could alter his physical appearance to make him in anyway less attractive to Derek.

When Stiles trails his kisses off of Derek’s mouth, leans his forehead against his and breathes on his chin, he knows he’s close. A good thing, since Derek is already slipping, spilling out a little around the grip of Stiles’s fingers, adding to the moisture on his palm. Stiles tightens his grip, tugs hard one more time, and gasps, tumbling over the edge with Derek. Both of them going rigid against each other, letting their bodies seize up with orgasm. Derek, well aware of still holding Stiles’s weight up, maybe being the only thing he’s aware of when Stiles dives back into his lips. Taking his sweet time to trail a soft, warm tongue over everything he can reach, then leaning back. Eyes bright, lips abused with stubble burn, twisting into a smile, “horny for the win!” throwing his arms up in the air, nearly knocking Derek off balance, and making mock crowd noises.

“Alright Big Guy,” patting his hand down on Derek’s chest, “that’s enough of the damsel in distress act, put me down and let me find some food before I starve to death,” even if he is the one that leans in and presses their lips together again for more soft explorations before Derek can put him back on his feet.


	4. Books Of Horror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non graphic vomiting in this chapter.

Books Of Horror

Being trapped in a magical floor on the library isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to Stiles. It’s just a huge bummer to be alone most of the time! Not really alone, here with a Mini stuck inside his body that he can spy on through the tattoo that’s pulsating with a strong, healthy beat of a tiny heart. It’s weird, okay, it’s totally weird. But it’s also awesome. 

It turns out, people can come in if Derek brings them in. It took some convincing and some trials of leaving before Derek would leave for real, he was protective about it, and Stiles was freaking out about it and trying not to freak out, but it’s not like he can fool the Sourwolf. By maybe the third time Derek tried to leave, he made it down the stairs before Stiles freaked out and he came back up. Only to try again the next day. And the next day. Well, at least he has cell reception in the magical place where no one else is allowed in without a chaperone!

So he also has a ton of books. A ton of them. He can even grow his own video game console to play for a few hours before it dissipates. How cool is that?

“Pretty cool,” a voice enters his brain. He absolutely does not startle and flail a little though.

“That was in my head for sure, Derek.”

“Nope,” his lips brush Stiles’s forehead on his way by with armloads of groceries.

“Does anyone think it’s weird that you’re bringing groceries to the library with you?”

“Probably.”

And that’s all. Stiles drums his fingers on the counter as he watches Derek unload the goods. And oh, the goods! He’ll probably end up with cravings and things that make him want to vomit and all that good stuff at some point, but so far so good. Nothing really at all has changed, except for the acid that randomly creeps up his throat in the evenings. And sometimes wakes him up at night. 

And he’s three months in already! A third(ish) of the way there! So if the bad digestive stuff was going to happen, it probably would have by now. Deaton was here with Derek, he was the first person he brought up, that bastard. Probably thinking Stiles’s physical health was more important to check up on than, oh, say, seeing his dad! Or maybe he thought Deaton might have some super-discerning things to add to the conversation with his super-discerning eyes. 

Derek smacks his hand away when he reaches for the tub of ice cream. Stiles shakes it out dramatically, “okay, seriously, delicate pregnant dude over here! No broken bones!”

“I barely touched you.”

“You barely touched me,” Stiles wriggles his brows, rubs his hand over his still flat belly, “I have a hard time believing that one. A hard time,” he grins over at Derek when Big Guy’s ears tint pink. Reaching out with his leg to drag his toe over Derek’s ankle, “a hard time,” repeating again.

“Right now?”

“Um,” pulling his waistband out far enough to squint down at his junk, “thirty seconds from now? Oh. My. Hale!” super deep inhale, clutching at his chest with all the dramatics that he can muster, only to have Derek look at him very calmly with barely an eyebrow lift, “I’m not going to be able to see my dick in a few months!!!! Oh. My,” he cuts himself off with another theatrical gasp, “is that a bag of Melissa’s homemade chocolate chip cookies!” he reaches out to snatch them out of the bag, but Derek swats his hand away again, “dick.”

“After dinner.”

“Okay Dad,” rolling his eyes and realizing, “wait, that’s going to be real thing soon. Dad,” elbow jabbing into Derek’s ribs, “or daddy, dada probably first, huh? Dadadadadada, wait, will one of us have to answer to the mama noises since babies usually make those first and how weird is it that babies just start with the ma sound and since the beginning of spoken languages we’ve all just decided if that’s the first sound, then it must mean the woman who birthed them? If I was the mama, I’d be insisting that ma meant ‘that guy over there’,” jerking his thumb in the direction of Derek’s chest, accidentally (sort of on purpose) jabbing him between the glorious pecs, “so I could get a rest.”

“So I’m Mama?” his eyebrows are stuck between confused and thoughtful.

“Yes. Say that again?”

He scoffs at him instead, drags him into his chest and kisses him hard until he’s breathless. The number one rule of shutting Stiles up. In Derek’s book anyway. 

He pulls away abruptly just as action downtown was starting to get into full swing, swats Stiles’s ass and smirks at him while he starts gathering ingredients for dinner. 

———————

“How’s Isaac dealing with being a big brother?” Stiles smirks at Derek when he throws eyebrows at his phone for the third time tonight.

He throws eyebrows at Stiles in response.

“That good, huh? Thought I’d ask. I mean, technically I’m his step-father when we get married, so…”

“I’m his guardian Stiles, not his father.”

“Still. We’re like one of those families where the stepparent is younger than the child.”

“Not exactly.”

“Like Sean Penn and whatever current actress he’s dating.”

“Not really.”

“No. Totally. Exactly like that.”

Derek’s sigh is very put-upon. Stiles doesn’t blame him. Really, he’s well aware of how annoying he is on a regular basis, add being secluded in a magic library with a baby growing in his magical womb and he’s going to be so annoying, just so annoying.

“I know,” Derek responds to Stiles’s internal dialogue, sets his phone down on the table and studies his face for a long time, minutes or hours or days even.

“See anything interesting Big Guy? Am I positively glowing? Am I glossed over with pregnancy hormones enough to make me beautiful and ethereal and, uh, bloated, gassy, uncomfortable, tired. No, scratch that. Exhausted. Purely exhausted Derek. And kinda horny. So,” he drags his foot up Derek’s leg under the table, trails along his inner thigh and his giant warm hand stops it before he can massage his balls with his toes, “better to be sexhausted than exhausted. If I can even entice you into bed to ravish me.”

“Of course you can,” he’s kneading the arch of Stiles’s foot now and oh glorious heavens above and below, that is amazing, “I will never not be enticed by you.”

“Even when I’m like,” motioning with his hands like a big round belly that he has to shove his chair out for or prop it on the table, so he props the imaginary belly on the table. And makes a needle with his fingertips, pops the bubble that he knows Derek is imagining too, “or should I have actually conjured a belly to illustrate my point?” as he makes the sound of a balloon slowly deflating and shrinks his hands over his stomach.

“No. Popping our imaginary baby belly is plenty. Thanks for that.”

“No problem Big Guy.”

———————

Stiles is alone in the far back corner of the library when he finds it. The male pregnancy book. It’s in the same shelf as the regular old fashioned pregnancy books, you know, the ones that contain vaginas and such. And those books were plenty queasy and horrifying in their own right, especially since Stiles projected them when he got anxiety and the words started acting themselves out on the walls and the shelves and dancing across the spines of the books and his mouth dropped open and he gaped like a dying fish and couldn’t stop it and couldn’t look away and oh, god, that is, he screeches (in a very manly way), tosses the book and runs. 

Right into the waiting arms of Derek Hale. His brick wall of a chest is a very soft landing, and his hands are wrapping around Stiles’s biceps immediately as he’s craning his neck to look around Stiles’s head and down the aisle. Stiles’s hands come up, covering Derek’s eyes, “don’t do it Hale, you’ll never be the same if you see what I just saw.”

He’s been in the library, living here, for about two months now. So about four months into the works. And he’s mostly been casually perusing the books of horror (as in, the pregnancy books, they belong in the horror section). Okay, so Stiles doesn’t do anything casually, he just goes face-first and dives to the bottom and doesn’t rise again until he’s so horrified he’s certain he needs to remove his hippocampus and scrub out his memory. Either way, he found the elusive male pregnancy book today. And talk about horrors.

“What did you see?” eyebrows furled, concern clear in his voice.

“I saw something horrible.”

“And?”

“I saw something I’ll never recover from.”

“What was it?”

“You don’t even want to know. It will make you regret all of your life’s choices. Me being one of those choices Derek. So don’t look at it.”

“I’m never going to regret you,” he goes from concerned/annoyed to soothing/gentle in the blink of an eye.

Stiles chews on his bottom lip, studying Derek’s face, focusing on every fleck of every color in his irises. Which, by the way, he’s certain he could study them for eternity and never find all the hues, “nope, not doing it.”

He retreats to silence and eyebrow daggers.

So Stiles shoots him an eyebrow dagger. A real one. So, not a real one. But a silvery, shimmery one that explodes into fireworks when it bounces off Derek’s forehead.

“Funny,” he sounds like he’s unamused, but Stiles knows better. So he shoots him another one, “well, if you’re not going to tell me, then I’ll just look for myself.”

“No! I beg of you! Don’t do it! Rather, be surprised on the birthing day when an extra hole opens up between my ball bag and my ass and the baby exits that way and tears open my butt anyway and oh,” his fingers grip extra tight on Derek’s shirt, and he starts falling backwards when his knees give out.

Derek holds steady, coming to a gentle halt on the floor with Stiles in his grip, “take a breath.”

“I’m doing that. I am doing that so rapidly Derek! I am breathing so rapid and shallow and…”

His hand is prying Stiles’s fingers off his shirt and placing it palm down over his own heart, “steady,” which is what his voice is too. 

“Super steady,” watching Derek’s lips through the blur that’s threatening the edges of his vision, making the center jumpy and awful, nausea clamping down on his guts, chest constricting. 

Derek’s counting. He can hear that. And he can see the man’s lips, while he exaggerates every calm inhale and exhale. Laying the pattern for Stiles to follow. Whether he wants to or not, he supposes the other option is to allow himself to choke to death on panic, thus avoiding the whole baby birthing thing. That sounds like a way better option.

But he’s looking at Derek. And all the things he could give Derek are right here. The things Derek deserves to have. So damn it! 

“Oh, no,” he hears himself through all the noise that’s drowning out everything else in his entire body, except for one thing, “I’m going to vomit.”

“That’s okay,” and he’s so speedy with his superhuman speed that he doesn’t bother rushing Stiles to the toilet or the garbage, he gets the can and sets it in front of Stiles before the contents have time to rise. Lovely superhuman that he is. And he sits right there and rubs Stiles’s back. Then his fingers, then palms of his hands that were getting tingly with panic. All the way up his arms, shoulders, then back down his back. 

And even though panic dictates that touching is bad, Derek has pressed past it. And used his physical presence to chase the rest of the panic away. And also some of the weirdness and pain that was starting to, wait, “you pain thieving asshole!”

Derek just chuckles, soft and breathy, close enough to the back of Stiles’s head that it stirs his hair a little. When the big warm hands move to his hips, he lets himself fall back into Derek’s body. 

“I smell like puke,” tucking his face into the side of Derek’s jaw. 

He tips his chin to kiss Stiles’s forehead tenderly, “actually you smelled like puke before you even announced that it was going to happen.”

“Oh, ew. That’s, okay, werewolf nose. You can predict the future of stomach projectiles? Does that mean you can also predict the other end? No, no. Don’t answer that. I have no desire to know that you know when I have to go before I do. Nope. Don’t care. Don’t need to know.”

There’s that damn chuckle again.

“This is ridiculous,” sighing as Derek starts rubbing his chin along Stiles’s jaw, scrapping stubble against his face, “what would happen if we both had stubble, would it duke it out for dominance when you’re frictioning it up over there?”

“Sorry,” he clears his throat, pulling back, but Stiles’s fingers grip his chin.

“Don’t stop. I need the exfoliation you know. Pregnancy pimples and…”

“You don’t have those.”

“Are you sure? Because I’m pretty sure…”

Superhuman speed advantage again, he’s suddenly there, and diving into Stiles’s lips, mouth that tastes like sour bile, and not caring. He is just not caring about the flavor. Clearly. 

———————

“I’m going to need all the drugs Derek,” tracing patterns on Derek’s bare chest, the sweat beginning to dry, “and a c-section. There is no way in Hell I am putting a spell on myself to grow a temporary vagina to birth this creature. No way. Nope. Not happening. What if I screwed it up, and my temporary birth hole became permanent? Just. No, not for me,” he shudders, dragging himself closer to Derek’s side. If that’s even possible.

“We’ll figure it out,” lips turning to rest against Stiles’s forehead.

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one with the temporary uterus that needs a temporary exit hatch.”

The warm puff of sigh washes over Stiles’s forehead and chases some of the tension away. Knowing Derek will be there, that bastard will be there stealing his pain, no matter how this all pans out. And Derek seems so damn certain that it’ll all work out, maybe Stiles should just adopt the same attitude. Chill. Zen. Take it all down a notch. Or ten. He can do that. He can totally do that. Absolutely.


	5. Kappa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a villain in this one, but it's more humorous than anything else.

Kappa

When Derek left the library to go outside, Stiles was pacing the rows, tapping his fingers on his belly that’s starting to show, and talking to himself. Magic flashing around him, colors of calm even if his body language showed otherwise. Derek knows his scents, he knows he’s fine. Just nervous lately. With good reason, and every night he passes out hard, sleeps plenty, hydrates and eats healthy. Derek wondered about getting some kind of exercise equipment up there so at the very least he could walk on a treadmill every day, but he’s certain that the pacing is doing more for his physical and mental stimulation than walking on a treadmill would do. 

Isaac is standing with his hands in his pockets, leaning against the Camaro, watching Derek as he walks down the steps. He clasps his shoulder when he’s within reach and Isaac’s immediate greeting is, “you’re going to have to tell him. He’s going to find out.”

“I know. When it’s over, I’ll tell him,” Derek assures him, “he doesn’t need the stress right now.”

“He’s going to be so pissed when he realizes he missed out on a Kappa,” Issac fiddles with the zipper on his jacket and Derek rolls his eyes, “I mean, a creature that has three anuses so it can pass three times as much gas as humans. He would think it was hilarious.”

“Yeah, well, Stiles and a trickster water sprite do not need to spend any time together,” yanking the car door open to shove Isaac off. 

He takes his sweet time getting to the passenger side, settling in with a sigh, “so the plan is to lure it out of the creek with cucumbers, empty the dish on it’s head until it’s weak, but not dead, restrain it in wet dressings, cage it, and bring it to Deaton for,” he shrugs, “whatever it is that Deaton does with these things.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” Derek rolls his eyes, knowing it was Scott’s idea, and hoping Lydia has a plan B well established with Allison. So far it’s been pretty innocuous, but given time if it gets comfortable in it’s surrounding it’ll get dangerous. Kappas are known to drown their victims if they’re feeling vicious. 

Derek sighs, wondering how it’s come to a gassy flesh-eating amphibian. 

———————

They’re only the size of a small child, but they have the strength of a grown man. And they’re strong in the water. Derek’s soaked from his toes to his chest, and wishing someone other than Scott had planned this attack. It keeps wrapping it’s fingers around his ankles every time he moves and they’d rather not do this with force, since the little creature hasn’t done any harm yet. But if it bites his achilles one more time, he’s going to rip it’s throat out. 

“Derek, catch!” 

He turns his head and raises his hand out of reflex only to catch a cucumber. His eyes flash red and he chucks the cucumber down so hard that it explodes. 

And, apparently, grabs the Kappa’s attention long enough that Boyd tosses a weighted net over it and Erica gathers the whole package in her arms, Isaac slams the door shut on the oversized dog kennel when she drops it in there and Scott smiles proudly.

“See, no one got hurt.”

Derek crosses his arms over his chest, watching as the betas carry the kennel over to Allison’s SUV where Lydia is sitting in the passenger seat looking bored and unimpressed, Allison is probably wishing she had been able to get a weapon out, and Scott is clamoring into the backseat.

“Good work Boss,” Erica slaps his shoulder when she saunters back over, “if only they were all that easy.”

He nods his agreement, watching as the SUV pulls off the dirt road and heads East on the blacktop, only to slam on the brakes as windows shatter and the screaming of a Kappa echoes in the air. Derek watches in stilled terror as the beast seems to triple in size as it slinks out of the back end. 

Derek and the betas are between it and the water, knowing they’ll have to keep it away from the creek, weaken it with dehydration. He crouches, listening intently to the three heartbeats in the car, adrenaline having quickened their rhythm but all three strong and steady. 

The Kappa comes towards Derek, squats and takes on it’s traditional Sumo stance. Derek sighs heavily, knowing if he gets the Kappa to bow, it’ll empty the water on it’s head, and the creature will be weak enough to get back in the cage. He steps forward, keeping his senses honed in on his pack, willing them to stay still and calm. He brings his hands to his chest slowly, eyes staying on the Kappa as he begins to lean into a bow.

The Kappa screeches like it’s giggling, stomps it’s right foot, lifts it’s left to stomp. Damn it. If it calls any other Kappas to the area, they could be overrun. This is going to end in violence, whether Scott wants it to or not. Derek bares his fangs, growls and a sudden ball of shimmering energy floats down around the angered Kappa, freezing it there for a moment as the magic surrounds it. The orb of energy twists and groans, forming vines that wind around the Kappa’s body, slither up it’s spine and grip it’s neck. Forcing it to bow, the water splashing from it’s bowl, leaving the Kappa lying on the ground when the magic subsides. Still alive, but weak and easy to subdue. 

“Damn it Stiles,” Derek snarls under his breath, reaching the Camaro before the rest of the scene is even cleaned up. Trusting the rest of the pack can deal with it from here. It’d be faster to just shift and run, but then he’d arrive in front of the public library naked. So he drops gears and focuses his hearing on two heartbeats. Willing himself to stay calm, forcing his claws to remain sheathed as he speeds down the streets, only slowing when he can hear them. When he can hear the steady, quick paced beat of his mate’s heart, and the smaller, quicker one surrounded by fluids. 

His clothes are still dripping wet, frustration welled up in his throat and anger threatening to boil over when he barrels through the door. Stiles is standing there, hands up between them, “hey, come on, don’t be sour. I wouldn’t do anything that would hurt the baby. I know my limits.”

“You knew your limits,” Derek’s voice comes out in a growl, “you don’t know how they will change, you don’t know how much energy is safe to drain any more. You don’t know how much magic can be pushed through your system…”

“I know! I know!” his hands are still out between them, they’re steady. As Derek’s eyes travel his body, taking in his coloring, the sparks in his eyes, and the flush in his cheeks, “it’s fine. Trust me?” answering himself before Derek can respond, “apparently not since you didn’t even tell me there was a damn Kappa swimming around in our creek Derek! You didn’t bother telling me that you were going up against a gassy horse-drowning sprite without me! You didn’t say a word, did you think I would’t figure it out? Did you think I couldn’t sense that something was up? Did you really think that no one else would tell me?”

“Who?” Derek still can’t control his growl, “told you.”

“Woah dude, take the protective alpha business down a notch, alright? I’m still allowed to have people I talk to. I’m still allowed to have friends even if I’m trapped in this stupid place with nothing to do! And I can’t even see my dad for more than an hour at a time. Or anyone other than you for that matter. Not that being with you is a bad thing, I just,” his hands finally falter from the space between them, shooting up to his hair and angrily tugging at it.

He sighs, eyes starting to dampen with tears of frustration, he bites them back and plops down on the floor, “it’s enough to be locked up here in some tower like some useless Disney princess, but I think you can trust me with the baddies and know that I’m not going to use so much energy that I drain the life from our baby,” his eyes are locked onto Derek’s. Jaw clenched in determination, his stubborn need to protect the people he loves clear in the set of his shoulders.

Derek takes three steps forward, a deep breath, and lowers himself to the floor so their legs are touching at the knee. He squares his shoulders, steadies his breathing and tells Stiles softly, “sorry.”

“You can’t just…” his arguments were already mapped out in his mind, the next section of red string was stretched and ready to be pinned to the board. Not expecting Derek to apologize. Not this early in the argument. His mouth hangs open, closes, then opens again. Nothing exits his lips. His eyes are impossibly wide, staring at Derek until he blinks, hand fluttering to his abdomen and Derek hears it at Stiles feels it. Leaning forward at the same time his free hand is reaching for Derek’s, placing it gently over the little flutter, “oh my god,” Stiles grins, “I think the baby likes when you apologize first,” his hand shifts, pulling Derek’s further towards his belly button and he feels it. 

Tears immediately spring to his eyes, blinking rapidly to keep them back, but it’s no use. 

“That’s definitely not gas,” Stiles announces when another tiny flurry of movement is felt under Derek’s hand.

He knows he should say something, or do something other than sit here on the floor and stare at Stiles’s face. A pink flush is creeping up his cheeks under the scrutiny. 

“I mean, I knew it wasn’t gas for awhile now, it just,” one hand flies up to his head, scratching along the back of his neck, “that’s the first time it was a big enough movement to feel it. With your hand,” his voice trails off, eyes rising to lock onto Derek’s, blush climbing across his cheekbones, covering his earlobes. Now his hand flails out between them, fanning at himself, “is it hot in here? Am I melting? Did I use so much energy that now I’m going to burn alive? Is it…”

Derek cuts him off by closing the distance between them and sealing his lips over Stiles’s. 

“I can’t be burned at the stake, so obviously if I was burned to death, it’d be from the inside out,” is what Derek is mostly certain Stiles says with his lips mashed against his and his tongue darting out to swipe across Derek’s between words, or in the middle of words. 

His power of shutting Stiles up with a kiss is failing. He laughs against those ever-moving lips, trailing his free hand up his back, anchoring it on his neck as he tilts his head back, leaning up to his knees to lean over his mate until he stands, taking Stiles with him and barely breaking the kiss. 

———————

Derek stays awake, like he’s been doing most nights, long after Stiles has fallen asleep. Watching the moonlight illuminate his pale flesh, the blank canvas that human beauty and magic have both carved their marks into. The tattoos are dim when he’s asleep, barely lit up, like tiny embers under his skin. In his mind’s eye, Derek traces every line both magic and human before he secures the sheet at his waist, propping his chin on his hand for a moment to whisper directly to the pulsing heartbeat beneath his flesh, “you are already so loved,” watching the movements until his eyes grow tired, pressing a kiss to Stiles’s armor surrounding their growing fetus. He pulls the sheet up with him, nestling in against Stiles’s back to push him up to his side. He’s far enough along now that he can’t sleep on his back safely, so Derek nudges and pins a leg between his, slides an arm under his head and holds him close to his chest. Breathing deeply the scent of him, of them, falling into a soft dreamless sleep with his face hidden against the back of Stiles’s neck, and his hand lying protectively over the baby.


	6. Horrible And Awesome

Horrible And Awesome

“It’s so hot in here, why is it so hot in here?” pacing up and down the aisle, tracing fingers over spines of book and watching in his peripheral as vines, stars, fairies grow, fly, and leap off the book only to head ceiling ward and disappear. 

Derek is leaning against the base of the shelf, a book propped on his knees. His face does’t even turn to look at Stiles, he shrugs.

“It’s hot in here.”

“Take off a layer or two.”

“Open a window,” Stiles flings his hands out to open all the windows at one time and a cool Autumn breeze flows through quickly, “that is so much better,” when he sighs he also slides down the shelf at his back, landing next to Derek, peering over his shoulder and reflexively covering his face with his hands, “oh Hale no, not that book again, just forget it Derek, we’re ignoring the problem until it goes away,” when he pulls his hands away from his face, he makes the motion of closing the book in thin air, and smiles towards Derek when the book in his lap closes abruptly.

“Stiles,” he sighs, repositioning himself to look over at him, “the more we know, the better. You know that.”

“I’m the research guy. I know everything Derek. Everything. Trust me, I am scarred for life over that last section there,” he flicks his hand and the book flies away, returning to it’s rightful place in the stack, “when you’re scarred for life over something, it never goes away! The image will forever remain,” tapping his temple, “right here. For life.”

Derek’s big hand rises off his lap, his eyebrows ask permission and he waits for a nod, before it lands on the baby who is currently busy using Stiles’s bladder as a springboard for her backflips.

“She never stops moving,” sighing, letting his head fall back and his eyes close. Something about having Derek’s hand on his belly that seems to calm them both. Maybe all three of them.

Derek hums a response.

“You really think she’s a girl? I mean, prophecies aside, it’s not like we’ve had ultrasounds, aside from the whole beating heart in my abdomen thing that we can watch like some weird movie all the time to let us know she’s just fine. Do you think she’ll be a wolf? Or a loner ADHD kid who no one can stand until she proves her place in life through supernatural and magic? Do you think,” his hand lands on Derek’s, finger tapping against his knuckle, “we should pick out names? Make a list and we take turns vetoing until there’s only one left? Or put a bunch of names in a hat and draw one?” when the baby rolls this time it’s forceful enough to move Derek’s hand, thus moving Stiles’s hand as well, “okay, so not with the random name generator. Got it. We can’t really do family names, right? We have too many dead family members that we would feel obligated to name her after if we went that route. And it also felt like maybe it’d be some kind of curse to name her after someone who died young, or it’d be like we expect her to fill their shoes and she doesn’t, or she thinks we expect her to fill their shoes and…”

“Shh.”

His head snaps over towards Derek, eyes flitting open to meet his where they’re sparkling with amusement, “excuse me? I was deep in important conversation with myself. You can’t just interrupt with a shh whenever you feel like stopping me.”

This time his free hand rises, plopping an index finger over Stiles’s lips, repeating, “shh.”

Stiles narrows his eyes, darts his tongue out and licks up the length of Derek’s finger. Which, has zero effect on the guy. Saliva is not a weird insult with wolves the way it is with humans. Or maybe Stiles just marked him or something. 

“Do you want me to answer any of those questions?”

“What questions?”

Derek snorts amusement, his finger slips over Stiles’s lips, callouses dragging across sensitive skin, back and forth a few times as his gaze softens and starts making Stiles’s heart flutter all wildly but somehow controlled at the same time, the way it only does when Derek is in his stare-deep-into-your-eyes mode. 

“Okay, okay, that’s enough intensity Mr Brows, let’s move this along to the physical part.”

———————

There are quiet moments. When it’s just Stiles here with the baby. And he gets a chance to talk to her. Not that she’s understanding him, or maybe she is, but there’s that whole thing where the baby knows its mom’s voice because its so used to hearing it while doing time on the inside. So he figures if he can talk to her now without her interrupting with cries, or dirty diapers, or falling asleep, then he should take full advantage of it. He also reads to her. Out of his mom’s book sometimes. Sometimes the real words that he’s learned through the last few years, sometimes with the made up stories that his mom told him when he was a kid.

He taps gently on her, mostly her butt, she likes to lay with her butt towards his front. The little amounts of time that she’s still, it’s usually her butt that she’s offering to the world, of course. When she’s moving, he can sometimes grab a hand as it passes by. It’s freaky. But it’s so cool. 

As much as being locked away from humanity is annoying as all hell, it’s also kind of nice. He gets to just be a pregnant dude and not have to hide it. Even if he does hide it as well as he can when anyone comes to visit. Because, yeah, it’s still weird. Especially w it his Dad. 

Not like his dad is trying to make it weird, but it’s not like Dad expected his son to be pregnant. Ever. So. Yeah. 

“Would it be less weird if I grew my hair out and wore dresses?” he finally snaps one day when Dad is sitting at the table watching him pace, and chew on his nail. Asking questions about the mundane to keep distracted, to dance around the whole grand baby getting very quickly to full ripeness, and to have some sense of normal conversations with a connection to the outside world. And Dad’s eyes keep dropping as far as his chest, and then darting back up like he’s afraid to look at it. It’s been months since the movement could be felt, and most everyone else has felt it. Scotty about yelped and put both hands down, chasing the movement around with wide-eyed wonder and a stupid grin on his face. Erica put her face level with the baby and started telling her about all the wild things Auntie Erica would do with her once she was out in the big world, just to piss her dads off. 

“Everyone but you has touched and talked to the baby! And you’re just,” his hands flail out between them, “avoiding. And,” okay, wow a tear. That’s cool Stiles. Really cool. A tear drips out, and soon another one follows and the whole vision of his dad in front of him gets blurry so quickly that Stiles doesn’t even see him get up, otherwise he might have backed away from his embrace which probably would have made things worse, it’s not like the guy was prepared for this, or has even really had that much time to get used to it since Stiles is locked in a fucking magical tower!

As soon as the contact is made, Stiles melts. Dad gives the best hugs. And he still smells like Dad. And now that they’re past the whole alcohol thing, and he can hug him whenever he wants, it still feels like a gift with each embrace.

“Sorry,” he mumbles into his hands when they rise to wipe angrily at his cheeks.

“No,” Dad only squeezes him tighter, giving him no choice but to wrap his arms around his back again, “I owe you the apology, son. I should have asked, instead of just assuming you wanted to avoid the subject. Or avoid the awkward touching. Once your mom was far enough along to be showing, she hated being touched, people have a tendency to just touch without asking when they see a pregnant person, but I guess I should have,” his voice trails off for a moment, clearing his throat before he continues, “may I touch the baby?” he pulls out of the embrace, which Stiles is not sure he’s ready for, but he nods anyway.

Dad cuffs his ear, ruffles his hair and drops to his knees with an old-man groan. His hands rise, linger a little ways away from the bump that is clearly a demonic being trying to break free from it’s thin skin prison and leap into the arms of it’s grandfather by the way it looks, “the last pregnant belly I ever touched was your mom’s. It was the first one too. The only one,” he’s telling the bump instead of Stiles, but Stiles understands why. His hands make contact, his forehead falling to lean on his knuckles and he sighs, it’s thick and tear-filled, “I’m not at all surprised to feel a mover,” there’s fondness in his tone, “and I’m so sorry I didn’t do this sooner.”

Stiles taps his finger on the top of his belly, the place he likes to rest his dinner dish, and the baby taps back. Or elbows. Maybe kicks.

Dad laughs, “I hope you give your dads as much hell as your dad gave me.”

“Not cool Dad. Really not cool.”

———————

“This is the worst thing ever Derek. This is absolutely the worst thing ever. I’m too hot all the time. I sweat when all I’m doing is walking across the room. Or getting out of bed. I can’t stop peeing. I haven’t performed a bowel movement in like two days. And I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I wanna die!”

Derek, the bastard, just chuckles, and has the audacity to step forward! And wrap his arms around Stiles. Because the whole being too hot all the time thing clearly didn’t register in his big stupid werewolfy brain! 

“Could I just put myself in a temporary coma and wake up a month from now, after the birth, after the first two weeks of total hell? Please, pretty please?” he flips his eyelashes at Derek for dramatic effect.

And Derek! Doesn’t take the bait, “nope. Sorry.”

“You’re an asshole! I hate you!” he shoves off Derek’s chest with as much vigor as he can muster, considering the tank is empty and has been for about a month now and anybody who ever said the third trimester was the fun glowy part is a fucking moron. Even his tattoos are dull and magic-less. 

Derek puts his hands up in the space between them in a show of innocence.

“Like you’re not the one who put your dick all up in it and ejaculated enough to fill a fucking gallon jug and next time! Derek! Next time! I will magic you into being pregnant! And you’ll have to deal with the puffy feet and the sore back and the weird, horrible and awesome jolting around inside your body at every single damn moment of the day and night and your bladder will shrink to the size of a pea, and to make matters worse,” he’s still chewing him out as he’s walking towards the toilet, “the baby will think that your bladder is it’s own personal launch pad for all things gymnasticy. Spasticy gymnasticy.”

He groans when he relieves himself, “and not to mention your dick. Derek. Your dick. Next time. Yours,” he throws an accusing finger in the general direction of the door where Derek is somewhere on the other side and oops. Totally accidentally shoots him with a magic zap of energy that probably gives him the sensation of being hugely, disgustingly, over-flowingly pregnant. For a second. Long enough for him to gasp, and when Stiles comes back out of the bathroom, he’s standing with his arms out still, gaping at his abdomen with wide eyes, “ha! Get used to it buddy! ‘Cause the next one is all yours! And don’t bother telling me otherwise!” 

Derek opens his mouth, annoyingly gorgeous eyes twinkling with annoyingly gorgeous softness as he scans over Stiles’s whole body and focuses on his eyes, but Stiles cuts him off before he can speak, “do not say that was cool. It was not cool. It was not cool at all.”

Annoyingly gorgeous smile rising on his face, hands placating between them for a moment, probably took the noise level up too many notches there and his poor sensitive werewolfy ears are ringing, but, “get used to that too buddy. Babies are loud. And shrill. And horrible,” he makes a mean, threatening face at Derek for good measure, then announces, “I’m going to go smother myself with blankets now. Thank you,” turning on his heel to flop down on the bed for the stupidly tiny amount of sleep he’s going to be allowed to have before the baby is at it on his bladder again. 

———————

Too bad the next time he wakes up is because of a terrible, horrible, tight, hot, cramping, ripping sensation in his abdomen.


	7. Dramatic Entrance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains the birth and you can eww with me ahead of time if you'd like... Take the werewolf claw c-section as truth my friends and note that I have not marked the MCD warning. I'm not much of one for killing Stiles and totally not one for killing babies. But there's blood and angst and stuff.

Dramatic Entrance

Derek jolts out of bed when a small, choked off sob echoes down the rows, through the kitchen and into the open bedroom door. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up and his stomach sinks, rushing towards the sound, the quickly beating heart. 

Stiles is on elbows and knees, mostly curled into himself on the floor in the row with the pregnancy books. One of them open in front of him, he’s rocking himself and his fingers are zapping tired, white energy. Sweat is dripping off him, his tattoos are barely glowing. 

“Stiles,” Derek approaches slowly, not wanting to startle, or scare him into backing himself into a corner. He doesn’t have to ask what’s happening, he can hear the baby’s heartbeat getting slower, fading away. They need to move.

“It’s early Derek,” he sobs into his hands, flattening them out on his forehead, “and I can’t,” it chokes off. His entire body tenses while he breathes deep.

“Okay, it’s okay,” his hands start fumbling for pockets, but there are no pockets in underwear, “I’ll just,” the phones are still in the bedroom, “call Deaton, it’s…”

“No,” Stiles gasps, “no, there’s no time. Derek, you,” he cuts himself off with a low, deep-throated moan of pain, “you have to,” gritting his teeth, he shoves the book along the floor to Derek’s feet. 

Entire body freezing and recoiling when his eyes skim the picture on the page it’s open to. The picture that he filed away in the back of his mind, it’s not going to come to that, he told himself, there’s no way. And Stiles was right, there are some images that burn into your mind and scar you forever, you never need to look at them again. Just like this image that he finds himself staring at for a moment too long.

Long enough that Stiles is shifting his weight, making lame, tired attempts to crawl towards Derek. Derek kicks at the book, lodging it under the shelf as he darts forwards and drops to the floor in front of Stiles. When he places his hands on him, opening himself to take his mate’s pain, it instantly knocks the wind out of his chest.

“Derek,” Stiles’s breath shakes, his fingers clamping down on Derek’s wrist, “don’t, you need,” he chokes off with a gasp, the jolts of pain transferring to Derek, “you need to…”

“No,” Derek snarls, “no, just hold tight, Stiles just…”

“Listen to me!” he gathers enough strength to scream it, “listen to her,” pushing himself back on his knees, revealing the tattoo glimmering weaker and beat slowing impossibly, “she’s dying Derek. She’s…”

“But I can’t lose you,” gritting it out without releasing his grip on Stiles’s arm.

“No, that’s not even, you can’t make that choice. I’m making that choice,” his eyes are steady. Sweat gathering at his brow-line, dripping along his face, flushed cheeks with a pale pallor underneath, “my choice,” he’s repositioning himself, squirming out of Derek’s grasp with a cry of agony as another wave of contractions hits, “fuck, Derek, I can’t,” he sobs.

Derek’s chest is tight, his head is swimming, and his eyes won’t focus. But his hearing is sharp, and keen on both heartbeats. They’re both growing slower and he can’t just sit here and let them both die. He can’t do that. He was probably fighting a losing battle as soon as Stiles felt his first contraction, as soon as he cast his first failed spell. The stubborn ass had already made up his mind to choose the baby’s life over his own if it came to that.

“Goddamnit Stiles,” he hears himself grunt, taking his mate in his arms and jostling him as gently as possible until he’s seated between Derek’s legs. His long, spindly fingers clamped tight on Derek’s arms, digging in painfully. 

Derek twists one arm around his chest, pinning his right arm and wrapping fingers around his left wrist, drawing it to his heart. He plants his feet on top of Stiles’s where they’re flat on the floor at the end of his bent legs. 

A deep breath of his neck, centering himself and forcing himself to focus. To focus on that tiny life. That tiny life that is slipping away from them. If Derek doesn’t act now, it’ll be both of them lost. If he acts, if he does what Stiles is telling him to do. If he does it then he loses one of them.

His entire body shakes with his attempt at a deep breath. He feels Stiles’s head tilt, “look at me Big Guy,” he’s breathy, his entire body glowing with the little bit of magic he has the energy left for, the little bit that’s feeding the baby now, keeping her alive.

Derek presses his eyes closed, trying to find an anchor within himself, an anchor he can hold onto, keep himself fully human and under control once the anchor in his arms is gone. There’s nothing, nothing of his own. There’s only the sound of Stiles. The feel of him, the scent of him, and his bond with him that he’ll never have with another person.

“Look at me,” he urges again.

This time Derek coaxes his hearing towards the little heartbeat, forcing all his attention towards her. And her future. His chin trembles, his eyes open to the sight of Stiles. Smiling gently. Of course the stubborn prick is smiling right now.

“I love you. That’ll never change. And I’ll still be here,” his eyes pinch shut, loosing a tear, shooting a bolt of pain through them both that Derek can feel entering his system through his hand, rising up his wrists and through his arms, settling at the base of his skull, “do it. Now. Now. Do it. Please.”

He keeps his gaze on Stiles, searching for and finding the confidence to do this, to know this is the right choice, this is what he wants. His breath shudders as he unsheathes a claw, his heart stuttering and battering itself against his ribcage. His wolf huddling deep inside him, wanting to bite and claw, wanting to howl his rage and tear this library down, wanting to shred through all of the magic surrounding them and rush to a hospital. 

But he can’t. It’s too late for that.

Stiles’s eyes fly wide and round when he slices through the flesh of his abdomen. But he doesn’t struggle, he doesn’t stop looking at Derek, and he doesn’t flinch. His mouth falls open, a shallow puff of air escaping him as the pain jolts through him and into Derek. Derek’s body is wanting to revolt, scream, vomit, pass out from the waves of pure physical agony. 

Stiles nods, his eyes rolling back into his head, voice just barely above a whisper, “I want to see her. I just want to make it long enough to see her.”

Derek leans forward, pressing his lips against Stiles’s forehead. He should have married him. He should have taken him to their bedroom before they came here that day. He should have showed him the life he planned, the house he built, the image he had of their life together, “I love you,” his voice shakes out as he finishes the cut and knows it’s time to look down. To release his hold on Stiles and remove the baby. 

Stiles’s arms flop down to his sides like a rag doll, his heart so slow. There are moments left. Just moments, maybe that’s all they have, maybe this is all they ever had, maybe the prophecy was wrong in the end. Derek sobs, he can’t bite it back, but the baby is in his hands, she’s so small. And she’s so perfect. Her tiny heart has begun to beat steady, and fast, her lungs are clear, her eyes are open.

“Look,” he urges Stiles quietly, lifting the baby up towards his chest.

Stiles gasps, light and airy, as the blood from the open wound on his abdomen leaks in a puddle around them. Rushing further and further away from them. Lying in Derek’s arms bleeding to death. His glossy eyes are full of awe as he gathers the last of his strength to look down at her, where Derek is cradling her with one arm against his chest, trying like hell to block his view of the mess he’s made of his body. 

“She’s so,” if Derek wasn’t a wolf, he wouldn’t be able to hear his weak voice. His hand rises from where it had fallen on Derek’s thigh, a pale finger tracing over her cheeks. Her mouth is moving, tiny suckling motions. 

Derek slices through the umbilical chord, reaches up to wipe some of the blood and fluids off her face as gently as he can.

Stiles never finishes that sentence. The life slowly bleeding out of him as it flows into her. A spark, like a tiny firefly jumps off the tip of his finger, lands in the center of her forehead, her eyes widen and even though infants aren’t supposed to be able to smile, Derek swears she does.

“I will never let her forget you,” he promises against the side of Stiles’s face, turning to bury his face in the warmth of his neck before it can grow cold, feeling the very last push of his pulse against his lips as he goes limp in his arms. 

He doesn’t open his eyes, halts his breath to listen to the final thud of his mate’s heart. His mouth opens, head tilts back, a low howl at the base of his throat when a sudden crash, a clap of lightening, and heavy thud blasts a purple shimmering light across the library, the shelves tip and sway, the windows shatter and a boom so loud it makes his entire body jolt interrupts him.

“Well, that’s why men don’t give birth. Would you look at that? Takes two of you to take the pain and you’re both nearly dead,” Lou is standing in front of them when the library slides back into it’s normal view. She rolls her eyes, one hand on her hip as she studies the scene, “it’s going to take me a full day to clean up this mess,” sucking her cheeks against her teeth. Before Derek can curse her out, or open his mouth at all, she snaps her fingers. 

Everything goes white. And too loud with the sound of silence. Too bright with nothingness. His grip on Stiles and the baby tightens. His stomach twists, then falls to his ass like taking a giant drop on a roller coaster. 

Crackling energy and the lights go out. Something soft at his back, the firmness of a mattress under his bottom. Lights glowing up, like soft candles being lit. A listlessness taking over his bones. Comfort blanketing his mind. 

His eyes adjust to his surroundings, only to reveal their bedroom. The one they haven’t slept in yet. His breath shudders as he feels the limp body in his arms. It was too late. She was too late. 

He whimpers against Stiles’s neck, this time he won’t stifle the wolf, he won’t stifle the howl, he won’t hide his pain. 

He hears the baby gurgle, it makes his teeth hurt and his throat constrict when he thinks about raising her alone. When he thinks about how he’s going to have to get up, untangle his mate’s lifeless body from his. Clean the fluids off the baby. 

An unamused, “oh hell no,” registers in his head. Eyes darting open as the fullness of Stiles’s pulse, the quick pitter-patter of his heart, the heat of his skin, and the fizzing of magic inside of him invades Derek’s senses.

“Oh, hell, no, this is not happening,” his warmth overtakes Derek and Derek crumbles against his back, letting his head fall against his shoulder with a heavy sigh. Stiles’s head turns, nudging Derek out of his hiding place. His eyes twinkling with life when Derek locks onto his gaze. The feeling slowly returning to the rest of his body. Stiles sitting between his legs, their arms entangled in a net supporting the baby against Stiles’s bare chest. The moisture of blood, the tackiness of it gone. The bundle in their arms squirming and gurgling with little cries of frustration, “dude, she’s after my nipple.”

“And that is a profound thing to say when you’ve just returned from the dead.”

“Dead? Yeah, right Sourwolf, you aren’t going to luck out like that. Please,” he scoffs, “I haven’t even gotten a chance to annoy the first grey hair out of you,” he smirks, leaning his face towards Derek’s to rest forehead to forehead. A deep breath, the feeling of content and home seeping into Derek’s pores, through his veins and into his heart. Breathing in the scent of mate, and baby. His scalp tingles, spreading down his spine, through his limbs and settling in his belly. 

He tilts his head, presses his lips gently over Stiles’s. And lingers. Not for long though. Interrupted by the frustrated squeal of the baby before she grunts and Stiles yelps, “what the Hale? Oh, oh no, this is not happening. This was not part of the deal!” but his voice is soft, his focus shifting to the baby who has indeed decided to nurse on him. And it appears to be working, “if I grow boobs I’m going to change my name to Stacy, start wearing moo-moos and never leave this bedroom again.”

Derek releases a shaky exhale, hooking his chin over Stiles’s shoulder to watch the tiny baby, her skin pink and clean of fluids, her body wrapped in a soft green and brown checked blanket, her hand free of the fabric, fisted and flailing against Stiles’s shoulder. Derek releases one arm from their web, traces over her delicate knuckles and slips his finger into her grasp, “that,” he smiles against the bare skin of his mate, “was a dramatic entrance.”


	8. Part Of Me

Part Of Me

This is weird. No weirder than anything else in the last handful of months. But hey, Stiles feels pretty damn good for just being disemboweled by a werewolf claw and having a baby removed from his temporary uterus that is hopefully gone already by now, because that would just be weird to have it still in there and have to massage it back to smaller and whatever else they do in the aftercare portion of giving birth, because that’s just, he looks down. Peering over the bundle of baby that is, yes, sucking on his nipple. And he’s just not going to address that yet. He’s going to do a wound check first. And see if his guts are uncoiled and spread out all over the place, or if they’re really just sitting pretty in there the way they’re supposed to after all that, if they are, well then he’s some kind of freak of nature. Or not really, it’s just magic he supposes. But when he cranes his neck, Derek’s hand clamps down hard on his arm, his stubble rubs along his shoulder as he shakes his head.

“Don’t look,” he warns.

“It can’t be that bad,” he can feel most of his body. The important parts of it anyway. So it can’t be that bad. 

“It can be that bad.”

“Please, I won’t pass out at the sight of blood.”

Derek snorts, somewhere between amusement and worry. And Stiles looks. And oh holy Hale! That was easy! Maybe not easy. But quick! He’s just like that back to his normal old pre-baby shape. Nothing to see here. Not even a mark. Which is mildly disappointing since he carried a damn baby in his make-shift womb for nearly full-term, full enough term to be just fine, and healthy and a big hearty brute of a baby, with fat cheeks that are so fat they’ll probably hang down to her collarbones as soon as she’s big enough to hold up her own head. She’s so round and squishy and perfect. 

“I’m a damn perfect specimen,” Stiles announces, freeing one hand to fist pump the air. Realizing quickly that was a bad move, it startles the baby off his nipple and she squeals so loud it hurts his human ears, he feels Derek flinch behind him, “oh my god,” he switches her gently, but hurriedly, with Derek’s hand under his apparently not trusting him to not drop the baby on her very first day in this world. Tilting her to show her his other nipple. Weird. It’s weird and he’s not sure if he can blame instincts for putting her on the other one when she unlatches from the first one, or if it’s some kind of information saturation from reading the books and letting the books become films on the wall of the library and doing all sorts of weird stuff to keep himself busy for his time spent as Rapunzel. If Stiles was a Disney princess he’d be the most unpopular one ever, of that he is certain. No one would want an ADHD princess who flails her way through life. 

Oh, except he maybe has that in his arms right now. And he totally wants that. Except, “she’s no princess. And if I ever hear anyone calling her princess, I will murder them with magic. Or turn them into a princess, better yet! And if people call her pretty all the time, like they do with little girls, I will…”

“She will always know she’s more than just a pretty shell,” Derek interrupts with such firmness in his voice, that it snaps Stiles’s attention right over his shoulder and drops him off a ledge into the ever-changing hues of his hazel eyes that flash a little bit red and leave Stiles fish-mouthing while he tries to grab words that are running past his irises too quickly to do anything about, and also, he’s pretty sure any remaining brain cells that he once owned are now quickly being leeched into his daughter through his milk. Milk!

“This is so gross. And so weird. And I guess I should just be happy I get cuddle times, and I can just kick my feet up and be waited on because my body is just totally fine, just like it never happened, but it’s not like I’m going to be allowed to sleep any time soon, right? Breastfed babies only sleep like four hours at night. And four hours is just… Derek!” his eyes have closed for longer than a blink and for the first time, Stiles actually looks at him. Really, really looks. And realizes that the big giant stubborn asshole has been stealing any and all pain, if there is any remaining pain, and he’s taken so much of it already so even if Stiles is already healed, that does’t mean Derek has fully recovered. And judging by the off-tone in his cheeks and the dazzle of sweat that’s lining his forehead, then he’s not recovered and he’s still thieving pain from what? From the whole boobing out thing? The whole milk in the ducts thing? The whole baby mouth on nipple thing sucking like a tiny vacuum with very, very strong suction? 

His eyes fight their way back open a crack, a mumble, “you alright?”

“Yes! Stop stealing my pain! It’s not even anything right now, since you already stole everything earlier and I’m fine, Derek,” he nudges his face against his husband, correction: boyfriend, why are they not husbands yet officially? That should be the next item on the list. Wow, that should have happened a long time ago. Really. Stiles presses his lips gently against Derek’s stubbled cheek, “get some rest Big Guy, we’re not going anywhere.”

He struggles with balancing the baby, unclamping Derek’s left hand from his wrist where he knows he’s stealing most of the pain through, he feels himself smile when his own left hand appears, the familiar glow of his ring tattoo greets his vision and he decides it’s time. Reaching towards that ball of energy in his center, the one that has provided so much for them already, including this little bundle of joyfully titty sucking baby in his arms; bringing Derek’s left hand to his lips, sucking in a deep breath, turning his hand, pressing his ring finger out and blowing gently. He watches with a content smile rising on his face as a vine of magic twists and flickers, shimmering as it falls tenderly around Derek’s finger, tightening it’s hold and seeping into his skin. 

“I just threw down the gauntlet, Hale. I expect your acceptance of my challenge, uh, probably first thing when you wake. Or maybe second thing, ‘cause you’ll probably do an inventory of me first. Ooh, third thing. Actually. Amended morning rituals time now. You’ll check her first,” his gaze tips back to the baby who seems to be filling up and drifting off, her tiny fist still nearly wrapped around Derek’s right index finger, “then you’ll check me,” his voice is growing softer the longer he speaks, watching the scene in front of him. Letting it sink in. Sink in that this is his now. His life with the supernatural and magic and all of the things. All of those things. 

His attention only flits away from her when a dim light catches his eye in the far corner of the bedroom. Which, by the way, is awesome and he’s super excited to sleep here for all eternity under the moonroof, and the little bassinet hasn’t slipped his attention either, or maybe it sort of did until just now when he lifted his gaze off the important part of the room. Which would be the bed. The bed only because it has the most important part of his life in it. 

But, there’s a little light in the corner. His breath comes out in a whisper, part of him has been feeling her here already, knowing she was there in the library for the worst days. Like a little weight of comfort that would sometimes reach out and caress his cheek, or tousle his hair, or whisper words of encouragement, “Mom,” but he hasn’t actually seen her in what feels like so long, that last dream in the woods. 

She takes a step forward, not that it’s really a step when one is floating, but she comes closer at any rate. Her smile is soft, fond, and proud, “she's perfect.”

He can’t respond over the lump that’s growing in his throat. Eyes welling up with tears. Already knowing why she’s here, why she’s been here, doing what she could to keep him sane and healthy, to keep them alive. A shudder rips down his spine as her hand rises from her side, landing on his over the baby’s back.

“I’m going to miss you,” he blurts suddenly, voice thick with tears, knowing this is it, this is the final time, he can feel it in his bones and his nerves, snapping around in his brain and mixing with the magic that’s kept her form here when he needed it.

“I know,” she cups his chin in her hand, and he closes his eyes on instinct, “but you’re brave, and strong, and you don’t need me here anymore,” her voice is getting windy, flowing over the room in soft gusts that ebb and fade into nothingness, “part of me,” she leans forward and kisses his forehead, lingering there for a moment, “you are always going to be part of me. I’ll always be right here in your memories,” her voice is getting fainter.

Stiles doesn’t want to open his eyes, he doesn’t want to watch her go, but he needs to see her face. He needs to know if she’s smiling, if she’s happy to move on to the next chapter. Her body has begun to fade away, like smoke sliding over the horizon and swirling into the sky where the clouds are a grey, white hue of a warm summer rain. Her face is calm, eyes dancing with happiness, “I love you, Mischief.” 

“I love you too, Mom,” his voice cracks, he nods anyway, giving her the last nudge to let go, to free herself of her final obligation to him. Her finger slips a tear off his cheek and the last part of her that’s visible starts to fade, her smile. It smudges at the edges like an over-watered watercolor. The center of it sparked with magic, and floating down around the night, fading into nothingness before it can land. 

Stiles bites back a sob, letting silent tears fall, slipping over his cheeks and landing on the blanket that’s surrounding his baby. She’s completely asleep now, her mouth open and slack in a tiny o. Her eyes fluttering under her lashes. 

He takes a deep breath, hunches over to brush her tiny forehead with his lips, pressing them gently against her skin, and whispering, “you’re a part of her too. And I couldn’t love you more.” 

———————

He’s pretty sure he died for how hard he fell asleep, but he’s ripped out of that deep wondrous, dreamless place by a baby screeching so loud it’s certain to wake all the wolves in all the land.

“Oh shit,” he flails out, searching the bed for Derek. Or the baby. Or anything resembling a person in the darkness, “I fell asleep with the baby in my arms, Derek! And now she’s not here. And neither are you! I already failed at fatherhood!”

“Stiles,” oh, he’s right there. Over by the changing table. Changing table! And so is she, “I don’t think she likes having her diaper changed.”

“Who would?” Stiles settles back into this glorious thing they call a bed. A real bed. In their home. It’s not the magical trap of the library anymore, “I guess having it changed is better than the alternative of wearing a sopping wet diaper, but really, I wouldn’t like cold, wet wipes on my delicate baby skin,” a giant yawn eats the rest of his words. Wondering how Derek can stand having that insanely loud crying right there at his ears, “is it tomorrow already? I feel like I slept a year. But clearly, she’s still tiny, so it wasn’t a year.”

“It wasn’t even an hour,” Derek sighs, bringing squealing bundle of flailing limbs to his bare chest and if Stiles had ovaries, they’d be tangled up watching that. She settles on contact. Mostly. She’s still shooting arms all over the place.

“Hence, the darkness surrounding us,” blinking up at the moonroof with all the stars blinking lazily overhead, “we do have a shade of some sort for that thing, right?”

Derek’s eyebrows are telling Stiles that he is, in fact, a moron. 

“Well, yeah, of course we do. Duh,” he responds in honor of the brows.

Derek bobbles the itty bitty for a minute, his face aimed down at her with a gentle smile. He is wearing ear plugs. Ha! Smart cookie. 

“I don’t think infants are supposed to be that loud.”

“She’s healthy. And she’s not afraid to let the whole world know that, are you?” Derek Hale has a baby-talking voice. This is different than a baby-talk voice, because baby-talk voices are just annoying. A baby-talking voice includes a softer, gentler version of a normal voice, that speaks clearly in similar patterns to adult voice, but speak directly to the baby like they are a living, functioning, intelligent creature. Which they are. So yep, Derek Hale has a baby-talking voice. And it shouldn’t be doing the things to Stiles’s body that it’s doing, but it is. 

He clears his throat, realizing he’s going to be vying for Derek’s attention from here on out, but he’s weirdly okay with that. His eyes dart over to acknowledge Stiles, and he still looks exhausted. Stiles fiddles with the hem of the sheets, telling Derek softly, “thank you. You know, for respecting my wishes, and all. Back there. And, um, you really didn’t have to take all that pain.”

“Yes I did,” he responds softly, side-stepping over to the mattress. The thing dipping just slightly with his full weight. Wow, nice mattress. Must have spent a small fortune on it. Derek’s big hand slides over Stiles’s, his left hand. The one with the little ring that Stiles placed there. He turns his palm to lace fingers, wondering how exactly Derek can hold a squirming infant in one arm without her complaining. Intense. He lifts both hands to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to the glowing ring on Stiles’s finger, the one that glows so bright it lights up the whole room when Derek touches it, he smiles, “this is me picking up the gauntlet,” it emits a soft pink glow proving friendship, love, and romance. Derek’s eyes flash red and the baby coos, her little hand darting out to reach for the rays of light. 

Stiles leans forward with a grin on his face that he knows is crooked, and dopey, and idiotic, but he’s not holding any joy back. Ever. Taking Derek’s face in his free hand to trap his chin between his fingers and hold him steady for a kiss that he deserves, after all they just went through, they deserve to have a perfect kiss now. A perfect kiss somewhere in the line of all the perfect ones they’ve already shared, and a million more to come, but for the next few years will probably be interrupted by baby crying or laughing or wanting to play, or just generally being a baby. 

When she gurgles out a cough, and her little fist spazzes out, landing on Stiles’s chest, he seizes it, leaving the safety and comfort of his fiancee’s lips to lean down into her little squishy, soft, glorious face. Pressing gentle kisses all over her chubby cheeks and wondering how it is that she’s already so beautiful when she was a little early, and honestly freshly born are usually kind of ugly and alien looking. But she’s not. 

“I was an ugly baby,” he tells her, rubbing his nose along her head, “so ugly. Just ask your grandpa. He’ll tell you all about it,” but he always says it with a glimmer in his eye, calling his bluff. Parents. ‘Cause what kind of parent would actually truly believe that their baby was ugly? Even if it was like Stiles, all gangly from the start. With a giant head and an old man face, “you must look more like your daddy did. Or pops, old man, poppy, pappy, papa, whatever you want to call him. You can call me The Originator. Whenever you’re ready,” he grins, drawing further away from her face as her fist connects with his cheek, “yep, you’re your daddy’s girl, aren’t you? With a healthy howl, dramatic entrances thing already figured out, and fists to greet the world with. She is certainly a Hale.”

He winks at Derek who rolls his eyes, but he can’t hide the pride that’s sparkling all over them like little reflections of the stars on a calm pool of water at night. Yep, just like that. 

“Well, when all the new parent glow wears off, we’ll be wearing very different expressions, so don’t get used to this,” he announces, then flops back gracelessly against the pillows when her little mouth opens to let out a hungry howl, “it won’t take long to wear off if you keep that up,” he tells her as Derek passes her gently off, and sits on the edge of the bed with his fingers wrapped around Stiles’s wrist like the generous parent he is, taking little black smudges of pain up his arm when she latches on aggressively, “won’t take long at all,” Stiles mumbles. But he doesn’t really mean it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snip, snap, snout this part of this tale is told out. Congratulations, you just made it through my first and most likely only mpreg. If the story doesn't feel complete, it's because it's not! The prophecy is still missing a few pieces, but this was the mpreg so how the hell do the other babies get here?! Well don't hold your breath waiting because I want to finish a few other things before I fully dive into part three, which will be mainly a kid fic. Hopefully I'll see you there :)

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos greatly reduce my posting anxiety.


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